


Beyond Breaking

by everylemon



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26216167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everylemon/pseuds/everylemon
Summary: Days before they’re due to set sail from Cape Caem, Noctis and his companions are ambushed by the Empire. Survival will mean pushing limits they were never meant to test.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

An hour ago, Ignis would have said he was exhausted. Maybe there was a word for what he was now, but he didn’t have the mental capacity to think of it.

He focused on taking MTs down, but they just kept coming no matter how many times he and the others cut (and stabbed, and shot, and exploded) them down. Waves and waves and waves of MTs, with glowing eyes in greenish faces and the metallic gurgles of their dying breaths.

The four were pinned in a deep ravine near Cape Caem. Three Magitek airships had crashed (on purpose, it seemed) to block the way north, and the waves of enemies came from the south. The walls were too steep to climb, especially while under siege.

Ignis spun from the corpse in front of him and leapt into the air to come slashing down with his polearm in front of Gladio, who was being hemmed in by troopers. In a few bone-crunching turns, Ignis cleared a circle so Gladio could once again swing his greatsword through the enemy masses. Then, he moved out of the way so the Shield could swing freely.

From the corner of his eye, Ignis saw Noct grab Prompto, who was also getting swarmed, and warp with him to a narrow ledge. Prompto immediately set to taking out snipers from his new vantage point; several fell to a single shot each. Noct warp-killed three MTs in quick succession before staggering slightly and switching to wreaking human amounts of havoc with his daggers.

Ignis was dealing with an MT assassin of his own. He tracked another out of the corner of his eye as it charged into Noct’s blind spot; it fell to Prompto’s bullets before Ignis could summon the energy to shout a warning.

Ignis’s foe charged into his moment of distraction, knocking aside Ignis’s ice-charged dagger to try and cleave his head from his shoulders. At the last moment, Gladio’s broadsword sent the creature flying with the force of an Insomnia city bus. 

They were _so damn good,_ Ignis thought as he sprang back into battle. Skilled. Coordinated. Deadly.

It just wouldn’t be enough.

He had been running through their options as he hacked and stabbed and summoned and threw, but strategy eluded him.

At first, the four had steadily pushed their foes back southward. But slowly, they'd had to retreat backwards toward the crashed dropships. Ignis could feel the heat from the twisted, burning wreckage behind him, and the smoke made it hard to see clearly.

Moreover, the entire situation felt . . . wrong.

Sure, they had been ambushed by dropships near constantly since Insomnia had fallen. Sometimes several waves. While the ships often contained laughably weak troopers, the four had nearly been wiped out by uncannily strong MT assassins on several occasions.

But the reinforcements always stopped after a few ships. At first, Ignis had been confused; were _he_ the Empire, he would simply divert an entire fleet to attack them once sighted. And they _had_ been sighted plenty. Deadly as Noctis, Gladio, Prompto, and Ignis were, sheer numbers would eventually overwhelm them.

But while Imperial troops found their group with frightening regularity, they never represented an insurmountable fight. Certainly not compared to even the daemons of the night — which reminded Ignis, those would come into play shortly, as well. The walls of the ravine were bathed in an orange glow that made the entire area seem ablaze as smoke continued to fill the air.

No. The Empire had not seemed hellbent on capturing or assassinating Noctis. And while Chancellor Ardyn Izunia’s bizarre insistence on aiding them at every turn was in and of itself discomfiting, it did match with the confusing behavior of the MTs.

They had been tried — sometimes sorely — but the truth was, the Empire did not actually seem to want them to fail. It seemed to want them to continue on their path.

Ignis did not know why, and that was a problem. Understanding your enemy’s plans was the key to thwarting them. And while the tactician within Ignis yearned to subvert that plan (if the Empire wanted them to do one thing, surely they should do the opposite), the truth was . . . There was no other path.

He had run through it a thousand times while gazing into campfires and laying awake on motel beds. There was naught they could do but press on. There was but one path forward.

And as he neatly severed the head off another MT, he wondered what had changed, because this ambush was . . . Well, it was what Ignis had expected the Empire to do from the start.

It was an attack designed to completely crush them.

  


* * *

  


Prompto fired, fired, fired, fired, fired. Reloaded. Rinse, repeat. His palms were slick with sweat, but he did not fumble his weapon.

Noct had grabbed him and warped up to this ledge, which had nearly caused him to barf, but had also made him much deadlier. The MT snipers had turned their fire to him, so Prompto focused on taking those down first. When bullets stopped ricocheting off the rock around him, he fired into the throngs surrounding his friends.

When Promtpo had first left Insomnia a lifetime ago, he would have been nervous to shoot so close to the other men. Now, he just . . . knew he wouldn’t hit them.

More than that, he knew they needed him to make these shots. At some point, he’d gone from being an occasionally useful nuisance to being a true part of the team.

He had their backs, just like they had his.

Prompto cleared more space for Gladio and had just taken down a persistent assassin targeting Ignis when a _thhhhhwk_ whizzed past him.

Noct dangled from the handhold where he’d point-warped just above Prompto’s perch, breathing heavily.

“Nice of you to come hang,” Prompto commented, rapid-firing into a charge of troops that was making its way towards Gladio.

“Was in the neighborhood,” Noct rasped, breathing heavily.

An hour ago, Prompto would have asked how Noct was holding up. At this point, he was pretty sure they were all dying here, so it seemed pointless. Instead, he said, “You sure know how to crash a party, dude.”

Fire, fire, fire, fire, fire, fire. Reload.

“Hate to crash and dash, but I see more fun to disrupt.” Noct already sounded less winded; somehow, these brief breaks recharged him in a way Prompto didn’t totally understand. Must be a magic thing.

“Buzzkill,” he said as Noct warped away.

Prompto fired several bullets into an MT assassin that was charging towards Gladio who had just swept away a group of troopers hemming Ignis in and _damn_ , he did not want to die, but they were sure going down in style.

  


* * *

  


Gladio had read about hopeless fights before. Writers described the calm that often fell over warriors during a valiant last stand. A proud acceptance of fate.

 _Fuck that,_ Gladio thought.

The more he accepted that they were going to die, the angrier he got.

All those years of practice, all that time in the training hall, all those _leg days_ . . . They weren’t enough for this, and it pissed Gladio the hell off.

So he charged, and swung, and made sure Noct had a moment to warp away when he hit stasis for the twentieth time, and kept an eye on Prompto’s skinny ass, and waited for Ignis to come up with a brilliant plan even though he was pretty sure there was none coming.

He would not be sore tomorrow, because he would be dead. At least there was that.

  


* * *

  


Noctis was a blur. He’d summoned the entire armiger arsenal for the third time today, and he flew in a blaze of blades, dipping and diving in and out with deadly precision.

When the power abruptly ran out, Noctis staggered to the ground amid a tangle of MT corpses. It would take them a minute to catch up to him again; he sucked in power as quickly as he could.

Noctis’s body did not like this.

He knew his limits because Ignis and Gladio had insisted he know them. He was intimately familiar with the consequences of pushing himself too far. This, however, was uncharted territory.

He rose wearily with a polearm in hand. He needed a break from close combat and was too tired to wield the broadsword with enough strength.

But Gladio jumped in and took out the first wave of attackers before charging away. Prompto fired on the second wave, and Ignis hurled a flask of ice magic at what was left.

The chill of the blast felt good on Noctis’s skin. He closed his eyes and breathed, grateful to his friends for the moment’s respite. When he opened his eyes, they glowed red in the fading daylight.

He threw his spear, yelling, and warped after it into the fight for life.

  


* * *

  


The end came at nightfall, of course.

Ignis heard the crunching of MT bodies before he saw the daemons. A red giant emerged at the south end of the ravine, and dozens of MTs were sucked into the void from whence it came. More were crushed beneath its hands and feet in the first instants.

It was followed by several of its kind, clawing their way from the earth. The ravine glowed with the eerie red of their flaming blades.

Ignis stood next to Noctis, Ignis, and Prompto, who Noct had retrieved from his perch at nightfall. Their backs were to the wall of flame as they faced the daemons advancing towards them.

Ironically, the daemons had done what they could not: taken out an entire regiment of MTs. Their sheer size crushed the tightly packed troops, which had nowhere to run. It was a massacre.

And it was about to end.

They faced their fate. Ignis dripped with sweat, hair falling in his face; his glasses had been lost ages ago. Gladio knelt with broadsword thrust in the ground, hand on its hilt, waiting. Prompto clutched the last of the magic flasks, which would do more damage than bullets against the armor of the giants. And Noctis stood before them all, one leg forward in a crouch, narrowed eyes forward, even as stasis threatened to drag him under.

No one spoke as they faced death together.

And then, as the giants reached them and they were all about to spring into a final blaze of battle, Noctis surged.

The armiger arsenal came to him once more, and Noct raised his palms. The royal arms rose; he thrust them forward with a primal yell, eyes aglow, and for a moment it seemed there were many Noctises in the air warping behind each one.

Ignis cried out in surprise. A moment ago, Noct had been too weak to warp behind a dagger. _What in the name of the Six . . ._

Every giant fell at once in a cacophony of daemonic armor: one with a giant axe embedded in its head, another with twin swords bristling from its faceplate . . . Before Ignis could see more the weapons vanished. He could not see Noct.

For a heartbeat, the only sound was the roaring blaze behind Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto, until they were all running.

Ignis had the lead and he was sprinting, vaulting over the still-warm bodies of the fallen giants.

_There!_

The prince stood facing away, lit by the dying flames of the giants’ swords as they faded into nothingness. “Noct!” Ignis yelled, voice hoarse from hours yelling over battle and breathing in smoke.

Noctis turned towards Ignis, his face ashen, and they locked eyes for a single moment before the prince’s rolled back into his head.

He hit the ground before Ignis could reach him.

  



	2. Chapter 2

As Ignis sprinted towards where Noct had fallen, time and space became his enemies. The seconds ticking away were intolerable. The distance between him and Noctis was unacceptable. It was like the nightmares of trying to run and going nowhere — except Ignis was certain he had never moved so fast in his life.

Finally, he skidded onto his knees beside Noct’s limp form, which lay face-down in a heap. He turned Noct over, pulling his upper body up off the ground and into his lap.

Blood covered the entire right side of Noctis’s face. His eyes were half-open. Unblinking.

Tearing the driving glove from his hand, Ignis searched for a pulse in Noct’s neck, which was slick with blood; the metallic stench stung Ignis's nose. Beneath the liquid warmth, Noct’s skin was cold.

Ignis did not think. Did not breathe. Brushed his fingers up Noct’s neck, searching.

He could not find a heartbeat.

No, _NO_ —

_There!_

Though Ignis hadn’t moved his fingertips, an erratic pulse suddenly thudded beneath them.

Noct’s eyes flew open. He gasped for breath, back arching unnaturally. Ignis yelled in alarm as he grabbed Noct’s shoulders and struggled to steady him, but the prince fell limp again almost immediately.

Ignis snapped his head up to see Prompto and Gladio kneeling next to him. How long had they been there? Prompto looked horrified.

Gladio, on the other hand, moved forward with focus etched into his face. He was the expert in field medicine — the non-magical sort, at least, and they had run out of curatives long ago.

Ignis settled Noct’s head on his own lap and leaned back so Gladio could check him over.

Gladio’s hands flew to Noct’s neck and checked his pulse as well. Then, he gently pushed Noct’s hair out of his face, revealing a gory, gravel-encrusted gash still seeping blood on the right side of his forehead. He glanced at Ignis, who wordlessly took over holding the hair off of Noct’s forehead. Gladio busied himself checking for additional injuries.

A few moments later, Gladio held his hand to the side to pull something from the armiger; likely a canteen to wash and bind the worst wounds so they could move Noctis, Ignis thought.

Nothing happened.

For a moment, they all stared at Gladio’s empty hand. Then, Prompto held out his own palm, as if to summon a gun.

Nothing.

Ignis’s mind spun with possibilities as to why the armiger’s inventory would be closed to them. All were bad, and none helpful, so he cut off that line of thought.

Gladio recovered first. He pulled a small silver flask and a clean bandanna from his jacket.

The flask, Ignis knew, held 100-proof whiskey. If you were every looking peaky after a bout of poisoning, you could count on Gladio to clap you on the shoulder and press the flask into your hand for a restorative swig.

Now, Gladio used it as an antiseptic and stand-in for clean water. He poured a small amount on his own fingertips to wash away the worst of the grime. Then, he gently took Noct’s chin and tilted his head backwards, against Ignis’s hip. Noct’s forehead was still weeping blood, and the red was shocking against the pale white of his skin, especially in the bright light of their flashlights. Ignis was reassured only by the sporadic rise and fall of his chest.

“This is going to hurt like fuck,” Gladio cautioned.

Pouring alcohol on a wound was classic field medicine, but to say it stung would be like saying a Behemoth was just a tad irritable. Ignis held Noct’s chest down firmly with one hand and kept his head still with the other.

Gladio sucked in a steadying breath and poured a stream of whiskey onto the wound, moving with the bandanna in quick, practiced swipes to dislodge the gravel. Then, he used the other side to wipe the worst of the blood from Noct’s face. Ignis was ready with a clean, folded handkerchief to staunch the bleeding.

Noct hadn’t reacted. At all. Not even a flinch or a hitch of breath.

“That’s so much worse than screaming,” Prompto shuddered. He was up on his feet, scanning for the enemies Ignis and Gladio had forgotten to worry about.

“We need to get him out of here,” Ignis barked. Whatever was wrong with Noctis was . . . very wrong.

Gladio scooped Noct up out of Ignis’s lap, breath rasping puffs of steam into the chill night air. Noct’s hand dangled limply.

“Uh, guys, I think we’re going to have company again soon,” Prompto said, pointing to the sky.

More Magitek engines in the distance. Not on top of them, but certainly _coming_. Ignis swore internally. Gladio swore externally.

Ignis took stock of the escape routes he’d considered and rejected earlier, trying to think of one that might work given their change in circumstances. North, through the flames of the wreckage that still burned behind them, would not work; the ships’ fuel would burn for hours yet. Up the walls of the ravine would take too long without any sort of rope. South would eventually bring them to face enemies they had no strength for.

Prompto was slowly turning in a circle, seemingly coming to similar conclusions. He loosely held a rifle he’d purloined from a fallen MT sniper.

Suddenly, he stopped and swung the rifle up, aiming it upwards toward the top of the ravine. Ignis and Gladio both froze as Prompto looked through the scope without firing.

Then, he _laughed_.

“What do you—” Ignis started, but the question answered itself before he could finish.

Light flooded into the ravine from above. Headlights?

A horn honked. A door slammed. The figure of Cindy Aurum appeared at the top the cliff, silhouetted by the headlights of the Regalia.

“Y’all need a lift?”

  
—

  
Cindy, goddess of wisdom that she was, had come prepared with a long cord, which she’d tied to a nearby tree and dropped into the ravine for the men to climb up.

 _It’s like gym class,_ Prompto thought in a daze, pulling himself up hand-over-hand on the rope while walking his feet up the face of the cliff. His whole being hurt, but he managed it as fast as he could and flopped himself over the top.

“Hey,” he huffed. Then he cursed himself. _Hey?_ Then he cursed himself again, but this time for caring about anything except not being dead.

“Y’all look like you’ve been through hell,” Cindy said as Prompto rolled to sit.

“At least we’re not dead,” Prompto said cheerfully, and Cindy . . . Cindy laughed.

Fine. Prompto definitely cared about something besides not being dead.

He’d care more when he was sure Noct wasn’t about to be dead, too, though.

Next came Gladio, who somehow carried Noctis at the same time and looked extremely heroic as he climbed over the top. Ignis brought up the rear.

“Cindy, do you have any curatives?” Ignis asked immediately as Gladio settled Noct into the open back of the Regalia. He lay the prince across all three seats and checked him over again.

“I grabbed what I could,” she said, fishing a bag from the passenger seat and passing it to Ignis, then letting her eyes drift to Noct in the backseat. “Is the prince bad?”

“He’s roughed up,” said Gladio, “but I don’t think that’s the problem.”

“Something like stasis, but deeper,” Ignis mused, a muscle jumping in his neck. Prompto had never seen him so on edge. “Try this.” He thrust an elixir at Gladio, who pressed it into Noct’s chest. It burst with a glow beneath Gladio’s fingers.

Nothing happened.

“This is overextension of his powers,” Ignis said, strained. “Unfortunately, these won’t do him any good. We may as well put on our own oxygen masks, as it were.” He broke a potion in his own hand and passed the rest to the others, who wordlessly used them as well.

It wasn’t enough — by far — but it took the edge off the pain and cleared Prompto’s mind.

He’d kind of preferred it foggy, now that he thought about it. Worry flooded him.

“We need to move before we’re ambushed again,” Gladio growled, practically radiating stress.

Ignis took a seat on the floor by Noct’s head and folded himself sideways in the space behind the passenger seat. Prompto did the same on the other side, sliding his boots beneath Ignis’s since there wasn’t any more room than that. Gladio, who never would have fit on the floor, took the passenger seat. Somehow, they’d all Tetrised themselves in without a word.

Cindy started the car back up. She cut the headlights and drove back through the underbrush. Prompto could feel the jolts and bumps on his sore backside, especially sitting on the floor of the car, but marveled at the way they didn’t crash into boulders or trees or run off cliffs like they would have off-roading in the dark with any normal, non-divine driver.

Ignis broke the silence. “Cindy, I’ve forgotten myself. We can’t thank you enough. How did you find us?”

Cindy jerked her head back. “Got a text from the Prince that y’all were in a a sticky situation and could use a lift. I’m just sorry it took me so long. That was a few hours ago.”

Ignis _hmmmed_ , as Ignis often did.

“Specs?” Prompto asked. Sometimes the adviser needed a reminder the rest of them lacked his brainpower.

“Ah — just thinking that Noct likely alerted Cindy to our predicament before he knew how bad it really was.” He paused. “Also, I regret not thinking to contact anyone myself.”

That tracked. Noct wouldn’t have asked Cindy to come into the massacre that the evening had devolved into.

“Cindy, is Cape Caem secure?” Gladio asked in a low voice.

Cindy cocked her head, considering. “Should be; not too many folks around those parts. But Paw Paw’s been into town a few times. Didn’t say nothing ‘bout y’all, but . . .”

“. . . But we haven’t exactly been hiding,” Ignis sighed. He was resting a hand on Noct’s head, to cushion against the jolts.

“Mmm,” Cindy agreed.

They all fell silent for a while. Cindy had steered the car onto a dirt path that was probably more accustomed to hikers than cars, and they bumped their way through the darkness. Prompto mentally added “driving in the dark” to the list of things that were wonderful about Cindy. Also, “comes dashing to our aid in a royal steed.”

“There’s a haven up ahead,” Gladio said, pointing. “Might be safest to stop.”

“Indeed,” said Ignis. “We may have to avoid Cape Caem altogether until we are ready to depart, lest we draw unnecessary attention to the area.”

Cindy swerved off the road towards the haven’s beckoning light. She parked the car practically inside the haven, on top of some rocks that sloped upwards to form a ramp to the top.

“I’ll wait with Noctis while you all set up camp,” Ignis said, and everyone piled out of the car. Prompto wasn’t ready when Gladio popped his door open behind him; he half-fell out of the car, pins and needles prickling all along his squashed legs.

He was about to complain loudly — you know, just to keep things chill — when Gladio’s arm flew out in front of them all to hold them back. 

“Looks like someone beat us here,” he growled quietly.

Prompto quickly summoned a weapon and aimed it up at the haven, where a figure warmed itself in front of a fire. Probably just a hunter . . . but just in case.

“Put that damn thing down before you shoot your eye out, kid,” Cid called down in his gravelly voice.

“Cid!” Prompto called, dismissing the weapon and running up the ramp to the haven. “How did you find us?”

Gladio laughed in relief, following on his heels. “Yes, Prompto, you did just discover that we can access our weapons again, nice one.”

“Oh!” Prompto stopped in his tracks. “That’s good, right?”

“It’s very good,” Gladio said with an eye roll, swinging out a handshake for Cid. “You out on our account?”

Cid returned the handshake. “More like Cindy’s. I told her she was a damn fool for driving out in the wilderness with no backup, but she wouldn’t listen, so I followed her in the shop car.

“And good thing you did, Paw Paw,” Cindy said as she appeared over the ramp. “I’ll be needing a ride back.”

“You sure you don’t want to wait until morning?” Prompto asked. “We’ve got a spare tent.”

“Nah,” Cid said. “We’ve got those anti-daemon lights of Cindy’s on the shop car, too. We’ll leave the camping to you boys. Speaking of which, where are the rest of ya?”

Gladio’s face hardened. “Noct . . . overdid it. We’re not completely sure what’s wrong with him. Ignis is waiting with him in the car.”

Cid scratched his chin. “You know, Reggie went and knocked himself out a couple times. Usually slept it off just fine.”

“That’s good to hear,” Gladio said, though he didn’t meet Cid’s eyes.

Cid had parked right on the other side of the haven, and he and Cindy disappeared with a promise to be in touch about the Empire’s movements nearby. Until then, they would have to lay low.

Lay low, and hope their Prince woke up.


	3. Chapter 3

When Noctis opened his eyes, he was in a royal tomb.

It seemed he was the guest of honor.

He lay atop a stone sarcophagus, hands clasped at his chest around the Engine Blade. The chill of the stone beneath him seeped through his jacket and ran up his spine like liquid.

He tried to sit up, but couldn’t move. At all. Not even to blink. It was as if he’d been petrified, or turned to stone.

 _I’m definitely dead,_ he realized, mind buzzing with panic.

He’d failed.

Failed humanity itself, if the prophecy had been true. But it wasn’t humanity he was really thinking of. In his minds’ eye, he saw Ignis . . . Gladio . . . Prompto . . . All three, fighting alongside him.

They’d believed in him, godsdammnit. Believed he could somehow push back the crushing hand of the Empire. Believed he was worth standing by.

He hoped they'd made it out of the ravine safely, at least. Hoped he'd bought them at least that much.

Luna had believed in him. That he was the Chosen King, and could somehow banish the darkness, whatever that really meant. She had struggled for him. She was waiting for him.

And . . . _Dad . . ._

Then, someone started talking disconcertingly close to his head, and he was glad to be stone because he surely would have shat himself otherwise.

“And _that_ , my children, is what comes of handing the _royal power of kings_ to a boy barely out of skirts,” the deep, dry voice rumbled.

Tall shapes loomed over Noctis; he couldn’t make out much more than that. People, or people-shaped, but taller. It was hard to see in the dim blue light and he couldn’t turn his head for a better look.

“They haven’t put baby boys in skirts for a century, you moldering old sack of beans,” someone else snapped. An old woman’s voice? “A century from when I died, that is, so add another hundred years.”

“Peace!” thundered a third voice. “It jars me as well to see my mighty axe wielded by such a . . . slender frame . . . but he is the crystal’s Chosen. We must send him back.”

Send him back? A light of hope flickered inside Noctis’s chest. So he wasn’t dead. Or didn’t have to stay dead, at least.

 _Yes please,_ he pleaded in his mind. _Send my slender ass back._

It didn’t seem like a given. The entire group broke out in argument. He wished he could turn his head to see their faces, or at least open his mouth to beg. No dice; still petrified.

He tried to slow down his racing thoughts. Ignis and Gladio’s “What to Do If You Ever Get Kidnapped” training sprang to mind.

The pair of them had spent two weeks of the summer break before his third year of high school drilling him in the art of being rescued. Gladio would tie him up, blindfold him, and toss him in the back of Noctis’s own car. Then, Ignis would him around in circles and “abandon” him — or rather, drink tea and read political treatises — until Noctis could provide sufficient context clues to guide Gladio to his rescue.

It had grown old for Noctis long before Gladio and Ignis tired of hassling him. (He’d long suspected it was more payback for being a punk than an actually useful exercise.) Despite this, Noctis had learned several things: how to escape wrist restraints, how to text Gladio without removing his phone from his pocket, and how to calm down enough to get an accurate read on a stressful situation.

The first had never come in handy. The second was often handy for ridiculous purposes. And the third . . . Well, that was genuinely useful.

So Noctis cleared his mind.

As best as he could tell, there were eight or nine people talking, and it seemed they were the Kings of Old. For a moment, he strained to hear his father’s voice — but no. These seemed to be only the Kings and Queen whose Royal Arms he’d already obtained. This made sense. He’d been using all their powers in the moment before he’d hopefully-not-permanently died.

“Come now,” the old woman (that would be the Rouge) called over the arguing. “We stewarded our power for his sake. Our lineage ends here. We must aid him.”

“He has fallen,” another shouted. “How could he be Chosen? Why should we act further on his behalf? Another may yet come to claim this power.”

 _Come on, come on, come on_ . . . Noctis pleaded silently. 

“It should be up to the Wise,” one voice called above the argument. The others slowly quieted into murmurs of agreement.

“Yes, the Wise!”

“We’ll all listen to you, Wise . . .”

The voices trailed off into an expectant silence.

Noctis felt his heart should be hammering in his chest. Instead, he could not feel his heart at all, which was so much worse.

Finally, after an eternity, a voice spoke. It was nasal but imbued the three words with complete authority.

“He goes back.”

As soon as the Wise King said the words, Noctis felt a sickening lurch that disoriented him like the first time he’d ever warped.

Then, a bright light overtook him as he fell into blackness.


	4. Chapter 4

Prompto's phone dangled, forgotten, in his hand as he stared into the crackling fire, watching the flames twist around the logs. The crisp night air smelled of pine sap and campfire smoke. He wished there was some way to take a better photo of a fire; all the ones he'd taken turned out lame, blurry or flat.

Maybe video would be better. Some things weren't meant to stand still.

Ignis ducked out from the flaps of the tent, and Prompto jumped to his feet.

"The same," Ignis answered, holding up a calming hand, before Prompto could even get the question out. "Gladio will take first watch with him. I believe his body just needs to rest; the only question is how long that will take."

"You . . . Sound like this has happened before," Prompto ventured. 

"Hmm." Ignis stepped to the camping kitchen, then poured hot water from the electric kettle into a thermos. Prompto trailed him. He could tell Ignis was still considering the question as he rummaged for a tea bag.

"Obviously not _this_ , exactly. But whenever Noct has overextended his unique powers, the result has been similar. When he was learning how to summon and dismiss weapons from the armiger, for example, he'd often fall unconscious."

Prompto laughed, and it puffed a little cloud into the air. "Maybe that's why he's always falling asleep in random places."

"Indeed." Ignis settled into a folding chair by the fire, and Prompto followed, a little awkwardly.

He still had something on his mind.

"Something on your mind, Prompto?" Ignis asked.

“Damn, am I that transparent?” Prompto laughed.

The corner of Ignis’s mouth quirked up.

“Okay, yes, I am. It's just . . . " Prompto trailed off, not knowing here to start, not wanting to say something that crossed a line. "When King Regis powered the wall, it made him a lot weaker. I mean, I know it really worried Noct. I'm not . . . I'm not glad Insomnia fell. Like duh, we all lost our families and homes and people died and it's completely terrible, but . . ."

"But it means Noctis won't have to maintain the wall," Ignis said gently.

"Yeah!" Prompto said, thankful to Ignis for catching his drift. "I can't imagine that being on Noct, you know? But . . . This other stuff, these other powers.” He didn’t really want to ask, but he wanted to know, so he pressed on. “Are they . . . hurting him, too?"

It was a weird question, Prompto thought as soon as he asked it. The longer their journey went on, the more powerful Noct became. In high school, it had amazed Prompto to see Noct summon a sword from thin air. Now, though, he'd seen Noct summon _gods_ from thin air. The more Royal Arms he picked up, the crazier it was to see him fight, practically flying, warping and phasing in a blur his camera’s shutter speed couldn’t match.

Noct didn't seem weak. He seemed like a force of nature. It was highly unfair to the rest of them, in fact.

Still . . . None of them went through curatives like Noct did. The Royal Arms, especially, seemed almost to feed on him. He'd warp in as a force of destruction and it seemed to drain his life away.

And summoning. He’d heard Noctis mumbling "That takes a lot out of me” as the violet light faded from his eyes.

Still, at the start of every battle, Noct was back to balling. And with each new Royal Arm he acquired, each Astral he won favor from, each obstacle they overcame, it seemed like Noct grew more sure of himself.

Ignis had been staring into his cup of tea for so long that Prompto was startled when he finally did answer.

“I cannot say for certain,” Ignis said with quiet intensity. “But it seems that using divine powers often comes at a . . . high price.” His mouth settled into a grim line and he stared into the fire.

Worry and guilt tumbled in Prompto’s stomach. Worry for Noct, that messing with divine powers would hurt him. Guilt for worrying Ignis about Noct even more than he already was. He stood up.

“Noct is strong,” he said with a brightness he didn’t really feel. He clapped a hand to Ignis’s shoulder. “And . . .” he hesitated a moment. “And we’ll all be here for him, no matter what.”

At the second statement, Ignis turned in the camping chair to look him in the eyes. “Yes. Thank you, Prompto.”

Prompto nodded and swallowed, throat dry, and then headed to try and get some sleep.

—

Gladio didn’t give up the first watch until much later he was supposed to, but he waited until the rise and fall of Noct’s breathing had steadied and he seemed like he was just asleep, rather than comatose. To be sure, he nudged Noct’s side and was reassured when, for the first time since falling unconscious, he moaned and shifted away. Until that point, Noct hadn’t reacted to anything — not being hauled up the wall of the ravine, not getting jostled around in the back of the Regalia, not being carried into the tent.

But now, he really did seem to be sleeping, not unconscious. Ignis would probably point out the linguistic flaws in that mental argument, but it made enough sense that Gladio could give up the false sense of control that came with watching Noctis breathe. He gently shook Ignis’s shoulder.

Ignis yawned and sat up, then crawled out of his sleeping bag to kneel besides Noctis and check him over. He gently rested the back of his hand on the prince’s forehead, then fluttered his hand down to feel the rise and fall of his breath. He, too, seemed reassured by the progress of their Sleeping Beauty, because he sat back and let out a long sigh of relief.

Gladio grunted his thanks, rolled into the still-warm sleeping bag Ignis had just vacated, and closed his eyes, prepared to drop into the instant sleep of the well-trained soldier.

It didn’t happen.

Instead, the stress and fear he’d partitioned off burst their floodgates.

Images kept crowding restfrom his mind. Noct’s half-closed eyes staring sightlessly, heedless of the blood bathing him. Noct collapsing into a pile of rubble, far ahead of them all because, once again, he’d warped somewhere Gladio couldn’t reach. The battle in the ravine. The feelings of hopelessness and anger, of failure.

They should never have gotten cornered there. Should have anticipated that trap. And he should have been strong enough to protect Noct, regardless. Now, the Prince had almost died . . . doing what? Protecting _them_. And not just the typical, “I cover your ass, you cover mine” of battles. He’d _deliberately thrown himself into a suicidal —_

Gladio breathed out. Lecturing an imaginary Noct wouldn’t help. He’d done what he had to . . . and it had worked. It seemed like they were, miraculously, going to live.

He just wished the price hadn't been so steep.

—

When Noctis woke up, he hurt everywhere. Especially his head. He groaned and rolled over to take up more space in the empty tent. A gentle light filtered through the fabric walls, and he could hear the others talking softly outside.

For a moment, he wondered if it had all been a dream. Then he sat up and hissed as his forehead wound throbbed anew beneath its bandages.

Yep, real.

He gingerly disentangled himself from the sleeping bag, wrapped the entire thing around himself for moral support, and unzipped the tent to emerge, blinking stupidly, in daylight.

Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto were eating breakfast around the remains of a fire. They’d put his chair out, too.

“Noct!” Prompto exclaimed, eyes delighted as he raised his fork in greeting. “Thanks for saving our lives, dude.”

“Feeling up to breakfast?” Ignis asked. He stood, took a plate of eggs and toast from the top of the stove behind him, and proffered the plate towards Noct.

When the smell of eggs hit him, Noctis turned, hands on his knees, and promptly threw up.

Ignis abandoned the plate and put a calming hand on Noct’s back, but the wave of nausea left as suddenly as it had come. Noct straightened back up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Guess that’s a no on breakfast,” Noct said, voice hoarse. He probably shouldn’t be up yet.

He’d just wanted to see everyone with his own eyes.

“Shit, Noct, we thought you died yesterday — take a goddamn nap,” Gladio said.

Noct sniffed. “I did die. My ancestors said I was a pansy-ass loser and sent me back.” He drew sleeping bag closer and retreated back into the tent. If Gladio was telling him to sleep, then _sir, yes sir._

“Well,” he heard Ignis say smoothly, over the crack of a can of Ebony opening, “it seems we’re back in business.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed the story, a comment or kudos is always appreciated. If you did not enjoy the story, a scathing all-caps review works, too.


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